Free The Key by Lynsay Sands Page B

the floor.
    “Fine,” she said at last. “If 'tis too much trouble for you to discuss your duties, I
     shall find someone else to perform them.” She had a bare glimpse of the dismay on his
     face, then turned to leave the room.
    “ 'Ere now! Ye canna be doin' that! I've done this job all me life, and me father afore
     me. Ye canna be replacin' me!”
    She had his attention at last, it seemed. Pausing at the door, Iliana turned back, feigned
     surprise on her face. “Certainly I can, Mr. Dunbar.”
    “Cummin,” he muttered resentfully. “ElginCummin. Me mother was aDunbar. Me da married her
     after he came here to cook.”
    “Well, Elgin Cummin, yer laird has given me a free hand in putting my new home to rights.”
     Not exactly true, but this was no time to quibble, she thought, her gaze moving grimly
     over the others in the room now as well, in warning. The kitchen help and a handful of
     servants, including Giorsal, all stilled under her look. “That means I may release or
     retain whomever I wish.” Her gaze slid back to the cook. “Including you. I had not
     intended to do so when I entered, but if you will not even discuss the matter with me, I
     see no alternative but to replace you.”
    “I'll discuss it with ye. Discussin' is good.” There was a desperate look about the man
     now. Iliana was not terribly surprised. Being head cook carried a certain amount of
     prestige and a lot of benefits with it. Besides, the man would have been trained in it and
     little else. Iliana's only concern now was how rigorous that training might or might not
     have been.
    “Can you cook?” The question was blunt and to the point, puffing up the cook's chest with
     ruffled pride.
    “Aye. Me da was the best cook in allScotland. Lady Muireall said so, and he trained me in
     all he kenned.”
    “Did he teach you to serve stale bread and dry, hard cheese to your laird?”
    His chest deflated somewhat, shame upon his face now. “Nay.”
    “Hmm.” Iliana eyed him solemnly. “Then I will not expect it again. What did you plan for
     sup tonight?” She had already spied the contents of the cauldron simmering over the fire.
     It looked to be a repeat of the stew that had been served every night since her arrival: a
     rather thin and tasteless gruel.
    The cook's gaze moved to the cauldron, worry puckering his brow, then he peered at her
     helplessly. “We have no spices.”
    Her brows rose at that. “None at all?”
    “Nay. Laird Angus did not replace his wife as chatelaine on her death.”
    Iliana was not surprised at this news; she had come to that conclusion herself by the
     state of things. “Is there not even an herb garden?”
    “Lady Muireall used to have one, but it went to rot and rain when she died.”
    “I see.” Iliana shifted where she stood, her mind working over a solution to the problem.
     She would have to have a look at the garden at once. 'Twas June. Spices would have to be
     planted soon if she would gain anything from them. Spices were too expensive for her to
     purchase those that they could grow themselves. Still, some would have to be purchased.
     “When does the spiceman come around?”
    “He doesn't. He stopped acomin' years ago. Laird Angus was never around to purchase from
     him.”
    She was frowning over that when Giorsal piped up, “He passed by here this morn. I heard
     one of the men reportin' it to the laird. He crossed our land on the way to Innes.”
    “Innes?”
    “The Mclnnes holdins. They be our neighbors,” the cook explained, worry on his face. “He
     will not be around fer months again after this trip. He has a wide circuit to make and
     only passes this way four times a year. I canna make tasty fare if I have no spices.”
    Her eyebrows rose slightly at his anxiety. It seemed he had taken her at her word and now
     feared losing his position unless he could supply tasty fare at mealtime. Iliana could not
     blame him for bland food when he